


The Eyes of Blenheim: Chapter Four

by itstonedme



Series: The Eyes of Blenheim [4]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU., Edwardian Period, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orlijah meets <i>Downton Abbey</i>.  The year is 1905.  Orlando is the 9th Duke of Marlborough living with his wife Olivia, two children and a household full of servants in Blenheim Palace.  Elijah is his newly-hired personal valet, and a parson's son.  Originally posted on LJ <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/93891.html">here</a>, January 2014.</p><p>Disclaimer:  Fiction.  No disrespect intended to any living persons.</p><p>Feedback: Always appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eyes of Blenheim: Chapter Four

**Chapter 4**

Travelling to London, as enjoyed in the company of landed nobility, is an entirely different affair than Elijah has ever known before. Arriving directly by motor carriage certainly trumps the annoying bustle of a train station. 

It is a pleasant day, and so it is a pleasant drive into London along the dirt and paved roads. It is a close fit in the wind-screened back: the rich never travel light, and although most of their luggage is stowed up front beside the driver, they have had to store a few smaller pieces on the floor board between their feet. Elijah considers this a benefit; without the boxes to help anchor him, he fears he would slide on the red leather buttoned upholstery right onto His Grace's lap when they round the bends and corners. As it is, he is firmly clutching the looped hand hold beneath the window so that he remains bolted to his spot.

It is taking all of Elijah's self-possession to contain his elation and nerves as a passenger. He stares out the side window silently, watching the fields and hedgerows pass by. He wants to wave to everyone they come upon who is on foot or in horse-drawn conveyance, the emotion essentially a childish surge of, "Look at me!" But that would be vain and self-serving, characteristics rarely present within Elijah, and so he pulls it all inside and composes himself as a model of respectability.

"Is the motion causing you to feel ill?" Orlando asks him a short while into their journey.

Elijah turns to him with an unguarded smile. "Not at all, Your Grace."

"I have to say, Wood," Orlando grins, "that I've been looking forward to this getaway. Having you along for company is entirely agreeable." He lifts his hand, idly motioning behind them. "It is healthy, I think, to put some miles between all the upheaval back there and my peace of mind. It is just so…noisy sometimes."

Elijah is at a loss as to how he should respond. 

"And now I've made you uncomfortable," Orlando says cheerfully. He quickly pats Elijah's arm. "Never mind, Wood. I natter unnecessarily sometimes, and it is nice to have someone who lets me go on without a rebuttal." 

Their journey takes the better part of two hours, amiably spent on both parts. The duke does indeed natter on, extolling the wonders of the internal combustion engine and the amount of time it will save people in the future, disclosing who owns which rural properties they pass, pointing out the new multi-level tenements being built for the trades and factory workers in London's western suburbs as they make their way into the city. By now, Elijah has rolled his window down to take in the sights and smells.

When they finally arrive at the Savoy on The Strand, it is mid-morning, and the duke is running a bit late for his appointment with the bank. A doorman has rushed to assist the driver with helping the duke alight, Elijah following in his path. Orlando directs Elijah to stay with their luggage as it is moved into the lobby while he himself is escorted to the concierge to sort their rooms. "Try not to strain your neck," Orlando quips quietly before he departs. "The lobby is a marvel." 

The suite that Orlando has taken, once they arrive to it, is more spacious than Elijah envisioned. There is a sitting area and a separate smaller bedroom, and beyond the bedroom is a locked door that Orlando opens. "This is your room," he tells Elijah. "In case I need to call upon you in the middle of the night. Can't have you wandering the halls in your night shirt."

Elijah is so much in awe of finding that he has his very own toilet and bath that he misses the fact that His Grace has never disturbed him during the night back at Blenheim. "Goodness," he observes by way of understatement.

"I'm off," Orlando tells him. "I should be back about the noon hour. I shan't be changing for the bank, but could you have my other suit ready before we head off to Auntie's?"

*

"How is it possible that you are more handsome than the last time I saw you?" Philippa gushes as Orlando is escorted into the front parlour of her Kensington town home. "Obviously, marriage and parenthood suits you. And who is this?"

Orlando releases his aunt and turns to Elijah, who has hung back as they've been shown into the room. "This, Auntie, is my valet, Wood. Lady Edgar Churchill," he says to Elijah by way of introduction.

Philippa glances briefly to Orlando as she extends her hand towards Elijah. "Mr. Wood," she smiles. "And do you come fashioned with a Christian name?"

"Elijah, My Lady," Elijah smiles nervously, taking her hand. "It is an honour and a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He's surprised that there is nothing weak about her grip. He imagines she will be as promised, somewhat of a force to be reckoned with. 

"Please, sit," she gestures, indicating a chair across from her for Elijah and scooping Orlando's arm within her own to deposit him on the settee at her side. She had hoped to inquire about Orlando's bank visit, but the presence of the valet has curbed her investigation. She decides it can wait until the theatre, unless the valet is part of that engagement as well, which wouldn't surprise her. She takes in the young man seated across from her. No, not in the least. She rings the silver bell on the side table for tea.

"Tell me about Olivia and the children," she says, and Orlando's reply is gracious and glowing and about as far from fact as Elijah can make out, although Elijah's intervention in the pony mishap gets resurrected again to draw him into the conversation and illuminate his best attributes.

"Forgive me for prying, Mr. Wood, for you look too young to have children of your own, but from my nephew's assessment, you seem extraordinarily intuitive about their needs."

"I'm the oldest of four, My Lady," Elijah replies. He needs to suppress the reflex to jump into action as the butler enters with a tea service, a kitchen maid in his wake with finger sandwiches. 

"And what about your people?" Philippa politely inquires, and while they are all being served, Elijah relates the town he is from, his father's occupation (village parson), his mother's status (deceased), his siblings' pursuits, his education, previous employment, each bit of information gleaned delicately through Philippa's tactful inquiry under Orlando's benign smile. She is down to earth and interested in Elijah's story, and he can't help but begin to relax as the conversation goes on, even though he still feels he's more a specimen at an exhibit than not.

"I was an only child," Philippa tells him and adds by way of unintentional understatement, "a completely different experience than yours. I envy your busy household, although your mother's passing was tragic. I too lost my mother too soon in life. Being without brothers and sisters contributed to an active imagination and circulated me among adults earlier in life than my friends. I can't say I regret it, but I can say that in some ways, I would have enjoyed your domestic upbringing."

"We are all the result of our environment, yes," Elijah replies. "And our nature. For good or ill, although for both of us, for good."

"Yes," Philippa replies, smiling at him thoughtfully. "Well said, Elijah. Very true. Which may explain why, in my nephew's case, even though he was afforded the best that society could offer, he still tends to be a scamp."

Orlando raises his brows in feigned surprise. "Auntie, what is the purpose of our station if not to plunder it from time to time? But Wood, we will have to explore this notion sometime, of the primacy of nature versus environment in determining who we become. Some days, I think it one, some days, the other."

Philippa sits back, smiling thoughtfully. If her nephew is to be true to himself at all, she thinks, he best acknowledge that his nature is what drives his every act.

*

"So what will you do about dinner?" Orlando asks back at the hotel as he snugs his gloves. 

Elijah hands him his top hat and picks up the coat brush. "There's a local down the street I thought I would drop into for a beer and sausage. Not to stay, though. I would like to read this evening."

"The Wilde book? Good. Perhaps when I return, we might chat about it. If you are still awake, that is. It may be close to midnight before I return."

"I will be awake, Your Grace." Elijah begins to brush Orlando's shoulders, walking around him to sweep the back, although it becomes an absurd dance once Orlando starts to unbutton his coat again to dig into his waistcoat pocket.

"Here," Orlando says when Elijah is done. He turns with an out-held hand and drops a shilling into Elijah's palm. "Try not to drink all of it."

Elijah stares at the coin. "That is far too generous, Your Grace." 

Orlando rebuttons his coat and taps the top of his hat. "I'm sure you'll find some useful purpose for the excess, Wood. I'll see you at midnight."

*

The play – a thorny, clever comedy by Shaw at the Royal Court Theatre – is a delight and sets the stage for much merriment while it is dissected afterwards over a dinner that includes three of Philippa's friends: the mayor of London, a marquess, and his wife, a contessa in her own right. Despite starting at a decent hour, it has run long, as has dinner, and it is well after midnight before Orlando and his aunt climb into the Albion – a patient Boyd waiting behind the wheel – for the short drive to Philippa's house. Orlando is well into his cups by now, although alcohol tends to elevate his wit and fluctuate his disposition, depending upon the company and conversation swirling about him. Tonight has been no exception; he has charmed his company and they have bored him to tears, even his beloved aunt. All he currently wants is to get back to his hotel room, pour a cognac and...

Well, the 'and' is unspeakable and unattainable. It involves his valet. 

Sweet, vexing, unsuspecting, incorruptible Elijah. How utterly dispiriting. 

"Your young man," Philippa says as if reading his mind. She snuggles comfortably against him for warmth. 

"My young man," Orlando says wistfully before catching himself. "My son?"

"Your valet," Philippa whispers affectionately behind a gloved hand to keep the driver from overhearing. "The one with the pretty eyes. Don't pretend you don't know whom I'm referring to."

"Wood," Orlando smiles.

"Yes, Wood, exactly," Philippa grins. More quietly, she says, "He is very sweet and completely engaging, so I regret what I have to say. But if he is not already – and I suspect he is not – he will be trouble soon, most likely through no fault of his own. He should not be in your house."

Orlando sits up and turns to her. "What are you talking about?"

"Dearest nephew, don't play me as naïve. I have watched you grow into a man, take a wife, start a family, stake your claim. And during all that time, I have seen the enchanted glow that you demonstrated in your valet's company today only on those occasions when you have been in the company of beautiful young men such as he."

Orlando continues to stare at her, frozen to his place. 

"Dear, dear," she says, taking in his expression. "Have I shocked you? Your secret is safe, you know."

Orlando huffs, aghast. "Auntie, whatever you are implying…" 

"Don't," Philippa says before he can further form a reply. "Don't deny it or explain it. You will only bury yourself deeper in your self-deception. I am not wrong, nor am I judging you. Heavens knows that I have found members of my own sex vitally attractive. Women, however, can operate in a much more discreet manner than men. Society allows it, even encourages it, in its own fascinated way. Men, unfortunately, cannot. If you need to pursue your sexual nature in this manner, choose a man of your own station who is similarly wedded. For your own protection, Orlando. Your valet cannot be the one. He will be your ruin."

Orlando stares at her. Every single word within her argument makes perfect sense, and every single word is a scandal. He turns and stares out the window. "I think this is your street," he finally says.

"Yes," she agrees warmly. She has said her piece. Orlando can do with it what he wishes, but this barrier at least has been broken. "We have arrived. As always, your company was enormously gratifying. I never can see you often enough. Perhaps it is my turn to come visit, to see Olivia and the children and all the work you've put into your home. I would like that."

"And we would love to have you," Orlando says, turning to her pleasantly but fighting to the surface with thoughts that want to weigh him down. He waits for Boyd to park at the curb before reaching through the open window to unlatch the door from the outside so that he can step onto the sidewalk. He helps his aunt from the car and leans down to kiss her cheek.

"I have made you sad and I am sorry," she tells him softly.

"Not at all," he replies with a sincerity that commands he should have been on the stage they enjoyed this evening. "Your insight, no matter how misconstrued, is always taken as intended. You are a wise and clever girl, Auntie, and I value everything you have ever told me."

When Orlando returns to the hotel, he takes his cognac with a cigarette in the gentlemen's lounge.

*


End file.
